​SEVENTEEN

Mitch

She cancelled the baby appointment. Of course, I didn't actually know that until I drove all the way to Little Rock just to be told I could go home, there'd be no need helping us conceive a second child today.

And I didn't call her either. I just drove home numb because there was something wrong, and I prayed it wasn't my worst fear. But that's an irrational thought. She will never know about Aaron.

Because I called him last night. And he promised me.

“I've known men like you, Mitch. But geez, I didn't think...I'm just so stupid,” he said. It rained last night, and my hand was so slippery, I nearly dropped the phone twice. Two in the morning, hoofing through rain puddles. Going nowhere.

Elena was asleep when I left, konked out from our pillow talk. Promises of another AA meeting this week, a therapy appointment the next. The constant living with and loving each other for Sela's sake. How easy it was to agree to everything before the slippery phone was in my hand, and Aaron's pain was on the line.

“I'm sorry. Okay? But, come on, Aaron. I mean...I mean... did you really think it would work out? Did you think springing that dang ring on me was a good idea?” Slap-slap-slap in my work boots that I had thrown on in our garage. Water flashing at my ankles in spurts and an angry belly growl of thunder up above. “You're right. Maybe you are stupid,” I said, but I didn't believe what I said. What I believe is this: I created something with Aaron because I’m afraid of failing my family. And as much as I may sometimes want that alternate universe, I live in this one. And I promised to live in this one before God and my wife.

“Screw you Mitch, and your secret dollhouse life. Something bad will happen. When people keep living their lies something always bad happens.” The angry growl of thunder boiled in my chest, leaked up my throat like acid.

“I can't, Aaron. I'm sorry, I know you're angry, and you have to believe I didn’t want to hurt you. But I can't do that to her.”

“Elena.”

“No. Sela.” I was in a work shirt, a clean one I struggled over my head before bed and my gray sweatpants, blackened with rain and a moonless sky. He went quiet, understanding, because Aaron isn't heartless. Quite the opposite. He was given more than his fair share.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay, you won't ever hear from me again.” I nodded and then remembered to talk into the phone.

“Okay,” I mumbled, then an “I'm sorry,” as the angry growl boiling my chest cavity was screaming “I love you!” in my ears.

I hit “End,” and then there was that moment when the pad of my thumb knew my reality before my head could wrap around it. It was over.

So today was all about going through the motions. Kissed Elena on the cheek, hugged Sela so hard I think I heard a joint pop. Picked up Jimmy and repaired a new leak at Jugs McCormick and stood idle as Jimmy shoved himself between me and any possible view I could get of the dancers on stage.

“Don't want you getting any ideas,” he joked, jaw open and whispering, “Well, looky there,” as a ginger-haired stripper gave him a wink.

I think about it now—bloodless knuckles wrapped around the steering wheel—how she didn't mention the appointment this morning like she normally would. No “Don't forget!” or “You better be there!” And I didn't think to say anything because maybe on some level I did want to forget. I didn't want to be there.

And now my tires creep up the driveway, and I click the garage opener, and the door goes up too slow. I need to take a look at it some time, I think, and then I start crying.  Because there Elena is, my beautiful Elena and a bucket full of bleach, scrubbing the garage floor on hands and knees.

This is what I've done.